


I'll Be Fine

by martiansonmars



Category: Seduce Me (Visual Novel)
Genre: Backstory, Desire, F/M, Flashback, The Demon World, Yearning, incubus, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6281434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martiansonmars/pseuds/martiansonmars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"N-no! No... I'll be fine! I'm used to this!" As the bastard son of the Demon Lord, Izroul is accustomed to going without energy. On the rare occasion that energy presents itself, he finds himself breathless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Fine

The air always felt very warm in this part of the castle, a side effect of always being filled to the brim with hot, thriving bodies. There was a constant jingling of gold anklets or bangles, bells, the scrape of chains across the floor. And for the eyes it was an entire spectacle of colors. Reds, yellows, pinks, greens drifted through the air. Strewn about the floor were all kinds of silks, blankets and scarves with delicate stitching. Overstuffed cushions were spread about for people to recline and take refuge.

All eyes were on the harem girls.

Many of them were lower class demons. Were they anywhere else, it would have been completely acceptable for passerby to spit at their feet. Here, they were objects of desire.

A seal girl stood balancing a ball on the end of her nose. Beside her a gazelle plucked at a stringed instrument, the ornaments hanging from her antlers twinkling with the sound. 

They blushed prettily under the Demon Lord’s attention.

No one noticed Izroul. 

It was for the best; he should not have been there. He knew this as he stood peeking around the door, claws digging into the hard wood. This was where his mother lived. He could see her, draped from head to toe in a sheet of sheer red lace. She sat at the Demon Lord’s feet, holding a golden pitcher in her hands.

Neither he nor his brothers were allowed inside the harem room… except for Raestrao. He had been allowed on his last birthday to sit beside his father and be entertained by the harem girls. He had yet to share any of the details with his brothers. Whenever one tried to ask, he always looked uncomfortable. He always had to conveniently return to his studies before he could answer any of their questions.

Izroul felt his body grow warm as his eyes traced over the errant bodies. If the Demon Lord had a type, it was simply breathtakingly gorgeous. Even the plainest looking of the harem girls had a smile that forced Izroul to look away. Their bodies varied from tall and slim to short and full. It was amazing how different bodies could be. Izroul’s hands felt hot by his sides. 

He wished that he could ignore the voices in his head the same way he could ignore the sound of hooves clicking on the stone floor. Prying himself away from the door, he slipped inside a shaded corridor and waited for the footsteps to go away.

Ugly pig faun. He was looking for Izroul… but why? No one was ever looking for him, except for his brothers. At times he felt more like a trapped spirit than a son of the Demon Lord. 

Without the pretty girls to distract him, Izroul was left alone with his bad mood. His head ached. It always got this way whenever he needed energy. He always needed energy. While there might have been a servant girl willing to lend her energy to one of his brothers, the same courtesy was not extended to him. As the fifth son of the Demon Lord – the bastard son, to boot – he was considered less than even the servants who cleaned the piss from the chamber pots.

He had eaten today. The cold, shapeless food felt like a brick in his stomach. It did nothing to better his mood.

After indulging in such sights and sounds and smells as those found in the harem room, Izroul found himself more frustrated than he had ever been. There were so many warm bodies just on the other side of the door, willing to offer their white necks to his father. Why could he not have just one pliant body for himself?

His fists crashed upon a pillar, punctuated by a guttural growl low in his throat. He could not destroy this pillar in the way that his older brother, Aomaris, could. It only hurt his hands and left him even more wanting for energy. He knew this… and yet as of late he found himself more drawn towards violence. It had already always been a constant in his life.

The only thing to tear him away from his violent thoughts was the threat of returning footsteps. He turned the corner of the corridor and ran all the way down the stone steps and outside into the fields. 

His chest ballooned with large gasps of breath as he leaned back against the castle wall. Eventually he sank into the cool grass, looking up at the gray sky. It was midday. If he really wanted to he could listen for the sound of his brothers’ thoughts and go find them. 

But he didn’t. 

Not for lack of being able to, of course. He heard Uzaeris first. Wherever he was, he had company with him. Beautiful company, willing company. Izroul saw no reason to interrupt; he would have hated his brother were it the reverse. Maybe. He did not know what it was like to have company, if it was true whether or not certain company could make time stand still or move very fast. If only there were someone willing to help him find out if he would even like it.

Zecaeru was also close, but he was with his mother. Izroul would not go near him then. Of all the people that lived in the castle, Zecaeru’s mother hated Izroul the most. His very existence was of the greatest offense to her. He was a reminder that she was not enough for the Demon Lord.

He pulled himself up from the grass and started walking. Perhaps today he might get as far as outside the castle walls before inevitably being caught and forced back inside those lonely rooms. 

People were indifferent as he passed them. There were chores to tend to, and even if he was recognizable as one of the Demon Lord’s sons, it was obvious that he was not an important son. 

Izroul continued to people-watch.

Of course the labor women were not as beautiful and shiny as the harem girls. Many of them, in fact, were quite haggard. The Demon Lord worked his laborers to the bone, and in the off chance that a pretty one could still exist among them, he would have snapped her up for his harem by now. 

Being around them still made Izroul feel excited. Not only could his ears pick up the sound of their blood pulsing beneath their skin, but he could smell them very intimately. One girl, perhaps a couple years younger than him, smelled of warm straw.

She had small horns that reminded him of Zecaeru. Now that he looked at her, he saw that her hair itself resembled straw, sticking out in every direction from her head. Her body was gaunt – when was the last time she had eaten, he wondered guiltily – and she was dirty.

He thought she was lovely. 

On her back she carried a large bundle of sticks. It was a wonder she had not already toppled over; it was much too big for her.

Izroul was not surprised when sticks started falling from the bundle, or even when she tripped over them. He was surprised to find himself stepping forward to help her pick them up. Clearly she felt the same. Her jaw practically touched the ground as she watched him, eyes likening to the size of plates.

“What are you doing?” she asked him, her voice surprisingly large coming from such a small body.

“I- I’m helping you –“

“Don’t. I don’t want your help.” 

“But I –“

“I know who you are, bastard son.” The familiar insult sounded new when it fell from her tongue. “You’re no better than me, except you know who fucked your mother.” She snatched the bundle of sticks from his arms and put it over her back. She didn’t have anything else to say to him. 

She stood up and walked away. She fell down again just a few feet away. 

For some reason, Izroul was there by her side to help her stand. She trembled underneath his hands, though he could not immediately tell if it was for anger. It seemed like even she did not know. Her thoughts were all over the place. 

He still had trouble reading her as she took him by the hand and lead him away from the open fields, and closer to the stables. His eyes never left her backside as she turned from him, taking off her pack and placing it against a wall. She put her face very close to his.

“Can’t you do anything right?”

Her mouth tasted hot and his eyes flashed gold.  
\--  
The place where he was now was very different from the stables. At first glance it was a very austere room, filled from ceiling to floor with more books than he thought he would ever be acquainted with. It smelled faintly of old leather and coffee. 

But it felt familiar.

Her eyes felt familiar, in the way that they looked at him so pitifully.

“N-no! No… I’ll be fine! I’m used to this…” He was half certain that the shock of not having a lack of energy induced headache would kill him.

He waited for her to believe him, for her to nod her head and leave him alone. She didn’t. As she moved closer towards him he caught a whiff of her shampoo. It was very different from the smell of straw. 

His back hit the wall; there was nowhere to go. He didn’t make her wait long. As she pressed her willing body against his he shuddered, eyes flickering from blue to gold.

“Thank you,” he growled, taking her lips.


End file.
